


Better by far you should forget and smile

by themazeballet



Category: Inception (2010) RPF
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-11
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themazeballet/pseuds/themazeballet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>title from 'remember' by christina rossetti; mentions the death of joe's brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better by far you should forget and smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elanorofcastile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elanorofcastile/gifts).



Ellen looked over Joe's shoulder and smiled. "Which project is this one?" she asked, and Joe pushed at her face.

"I'm not really sure," Joe mused and sat back. "Hey, uh, would you hand me my phone?" Ellen tossed it to him, and he idly read the messages. "Well, I was thinking of making a video with this story I just read, if you wanna look over it?"

"Lemme see," Ellen said, and Joe let her sit down in his chair and got up to read his messages with more attention.

His phone buzzed in his hand, and he smiled at the name. "Tom fucking Hardy."

"…Joe fucking Gordon-Levitt? Nah, doesn't work as well. Too many bloody syllables." Joe couldn't help but smile wider. "Where are you?"

"New York. Where are you?"

"Is that really Tom?" Ellen called. "Say hey."

"Ellen says hello."

"I'm in Vancouver. And say hello to the little minx for me as well."

"You're turning into a real movie star."

"Who says I wasn't already?" There was a laugh. "Hey, the last time I was in LA, I think I left my iPod."

"Uh…yeah, actually. You have absolute shit taste in music," Joe said.

"We can't all be indie music aficionados. I've been stealing P's iPod though, and I'm sure he doesn't appreciate it."

"Well, uh. We'll meet up, just lemme know when you're back in LA."

"Sure thing. Thanks." There was a pause. "Take care."

Joe wandered back into his living room and rubbed Ellen's hair. "Tom says hello, you little minx. He left his iPod at my place in LA."

"Ooo, leaving personal items already?" Ellen grinned up at him. "Is it serious?"

"Ellen, you leave clothes with me all the time, but that doesn't mean you and I are sleeping together."

Ellen didn't say anything, eyes gliding over the story. She nodded. "You want me to help? It's good, and I've been wanting to get back behind a camera lately."

"Heck yes," Joe said. "Hey, here's what I was thinking…"

//

The featured Record for the day had over 100 recommends. Joe sat down and clicked on it; it was a video entitled 'At the End of the Day'.

The music was discordant, huge. The movie started in black and white, the camera sweeping down a street in seeming fast-forward, flying through a curtain and resting on two people curled in bed. Joe raised both of his eyebrows—there was no mistaking those tattoos.

Tom sat up in bed, and stared at his hands as they began shifting from black and white to full, startling colour. Tom's mouth worked in stunned silence, and his brow furrowed. He turned to shake the woman in bed with him (Charlotte, Joe's brain suddenly supplied), but she just rolled over and curled tighter into herself.

Tom slid out from under the covers and made his way to the bathroom, the camera following him as the colour seeped into his skin and spread out over him like a rapidly growing oil-slick. He stared at himself in the mirror, touching his newly tinted skin. He looked around him, at all the black and white, and frowned.

The scene faded and switched to Tom on a crowded street, the only face with any colour in it. He wore a bright red shirt and stood in the middle of the pavement, watching as people pushed past him. His eyes caught the camera, and he stared. The blankness of his denim-grey eyes made Joe's skin crawl. Joe reminded himself that this was just a film.

The next scene was Tom painting large orange letters on the side of a wall: H-E-L-P M-E P-L-E-A-S-E. Each letter started out brilliantly orange against the pale wall, but faded into dark grey. Tom kicked at the wall savagely, picking up the orange paint and splashing it against the wall.

The music, this time a solo flamenco guitar, stopped.

Tom was throwing plates against the wall, each one shattering spectacularly, except that there was no sound. Tom picked up a shard of plate and watched as the colours came seeping back. He dropped it, and the colours blinked away before the piece shattered on the floor.

The scene faded and Joe watched the credits, his thoughts rolling in his head. He wondered how long Tom had had a hitREcord account. He wondered how he had collected people to help him with this movie, and he wondered why Tom even made the film. He could have texted all these questions to Tom, but he decided that it would just be best to make a response.

//

Joe's film ended up being entitled 'The World Will Come Around,' and in it, he was the only black and white person in a world of colour, and he painted, I A-M H-E-R-E on a wall.

It wasn't subtle, but he hoped Tom understood.

//

Tom was in Los Angeles to discuss his contract for the new Batman movie. Joe was in Los Angeles to give Tom back his iPod, and maybe discuss a role for the new Batman.

It was good, talking shop with Tom and Nolan and getting back into the acting thing. Tom was serious, asking relevant and astoundingly clear questions about his contract. P lurked, watching the three of them, and Joe was sure he was making his own assumptions and coming to his own conclusions. Tom was a lucky man to have P as such a close friend and confidant.

Joe touched Tom's wrist towards the end of the negotiations, and didn't let go until they were all getting up to go. Tom glanced at his fingers, and then up at Joe, winking conspiratorially at him.

"I see you liked my movie, then," Tom said softly, and Joe scratched his eyebrow.

"It looked really good," Joe said as they were walking out of the Warner Brothers' offices and out into the warm afternoon. "Really good and steady camerawork, and of course you're a really good actor."

Tom looked away and shrugged. "I'm not bad," he said vaguely.

"Hey, come on over, hang out?"

Tom looked at his face and smirked. "As long as I get my iPod back," he said evenly.

//

Joe's house in Silver Lake looked like an overgrown cottage, and was dark and cool inside. Joe pushed open some curtains and disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a beer for himself and a bottle of water for Tom. Tom leaned against the wall and stared out of the window.

"You don't…you don't drink or smoke or anything, do you?"

Tom blinked out of his reverie and stared at Joe. "Cigarettes. I'd love to fucking quit, though." He rubbed his jaw and smiled at Joe. "Thank you, though." He drank his water and lapsed back into silence.

"You talk a lot," Joe said after a few minutes of watching Tom. "You digress and you ruminate and you talk. What's that all about?"

Tom blinked at Joe. "What? I…well, if it's something I'm interested in, something I'm passionate about…but I don't find myself just talking to be talking." He took a swig of his water. "Hmm." He looked over Joe's face, and Joe flushed and looked down. "Should we be talking about something?"

"U-uh…" Joe laughed and took a swig of his beer. "I'll go get your iPod."

When Joe came back, Tom stepped up to him, put his hand on the back of his neck, and kissed him, pushing him steadily back against a wall. Joe grabbed a hold of Tom's arm, moaning when Tom nipped at his lips.

"Talking is boring," Tom muttered, smiling against Joe's mouth. Joe smiled back, fingers smoothing over the back of Tom's neck.

"Listen, though…"

"No, you watch," Tom muttered, sliding to his knees, tugging at Joe's jeans and boxers. Joe was embarrassingly half-hard and Tom glanced up at him, suppressing a little grin.

"Don't even say it," Joe whispered, and Tom laughed before leaning close and taking Joe's cock in his hand. Tom's hand was warm and dry and then his mouth closed over the head of Joe's cock and Joe stopped thinking about Tom's hand. He was torn between watching and sinking into the sensation of Tom's unbelievable lips and his warm, wide tongue. He dropped his head back against the wall and a moan escaped past his lips.

Joe wondered how Tom knew how much he figured in Joe's fantasies, but that line of thought left him very, very quickly as Tom's nosed into his pubes. His fingers shook as they carded through Tom's short-cropped hair and rested at his nape. Tom's thumb was digging into his hipbone, and it hurt.

Joe's fingers slid to Tom's shoulder and he pushed weakly at Tom to let him know he was coming, and Tom stayed stubbornly on his cock. Joe came with a strangled cry, biting down on his bottom lip as Tom licked him clean.

Tom pushed himself to his feet, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Tom licked his lips. "Thanks for my iPod," he said, and Joe pushed at Tom's shoulder.

"Anytime," Joe muttered, and his thumb stroked over Tom's neck.

//

Four days later, Joe's world crumbled around him.

//

He turned on his phone two weeks later, and stared at the missed calls and voicemail messages and the text messages, and turned it off again. He sat on his bed, wondering if he was hungry.

He dug his laptop out from his under his bed and opened it, going his e-mail program and giving it a baleful eye. He found a recent email from Ellen, but couldn't figure out the words to reply. His fingers hovered over the keys and he scared at the screen.

He didn't know what she had written. All he could think to write was _I miss him_. He sent that off, and closed his laptop again, getting up to find something to eat.

//

"You didn't leave anything here the last time," Joe said in his doorway, staring at Tom.

"That's right," Tom said, and shrugged. "Four days off of filming, why not spend a little time in Los Angeles? I had to meet with another producer."

"A real movie star," Joe replied, letting Tom in. Tom set his bag next to the door and stared at Joe.

"It's been a while," Tom said to Joe's back, and Joe shrugged.

"Haven't really been myself," Joe murmured, and Tom reached out and touched the back of his neck. Joe flinched, and Tom slid his arm around Joe's thin shoulders.

"Not asking you to be," Tom said evenly.

Joe looked at Tom, and nodded. Tom touched his face, a thumb tracing over Joe's lips.

If Tom felt a smile ghost under his thumb, he didn't react.


End file.
